


age old reassurances

by thewintersolstice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Dialogue, Established Relationship, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewintersolstice/pseuds/thewintersolstice
Summary: After Molly and Sirius fight over Harry's involvement in the Order, Sirius vents to Remus later that night.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 33





	age old reassurances

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my files since 2017 oh my god! Edited & shipped to youu, enjoy. :)  
> This felt like a natural continuation of the conversation in Order of the Phoenix when Harry arrives in Grimmauld Place, and one they've had many variations of.

Sirius stalks into their bedroom with anger fizzling out of his fingertips and harsh lines in his face that have grown deeper and more prominent since Azkaban, starker still against his skin every time he’s angry. Remus wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumbs, but he knows that isn’t what Sirius wants at the moment. He is all uncontained energy, too much of it right under the surface that he’s almost vibrating, evident in the way he slams his wand on the side table, yanks off his sweater, ignores Remus’ look. Burns for a fight. 

“Harry is back, and Harry is safe,” Remus reminds him gently, grabbing a bookmark as Sirius shucks his shirt, quick and forceful. It lands among the mix of his and Remus’ clothes that already litter the floor. The small amount of cleaning that Kreacher does manage to do never seems to reach their bedroom and Remus isn’t sure whether Sirius had forbidden him to touch it or its Kreacher’s own stubborn, bigoted refusal that keeps him away. Either way, Remus is glad of it -- the imperfect mess and the casual mingling of their possessions reminds him of a different time. Its calming and theirs alone. Sirius, though, is a storm in the midst of it.

“I know, I know. Of course I’m glad that he’s back and safe! No thanks to _anyone but himself!_ The boy fights off fucking _dementors_ and they _still_ don’t think he can handle--” Sirius starts immediately, and Remus settles his book down on the side table, cuts off the string of complaints that are sure to follow. 

“Everyone knows that he’s your godson, Sirius. No one questions it, questions your say in his life or his safety.”

“Molly does,” Sirius snaps, still standing, trying to wrangle his legs out of his trousers. 

“Molly’s only looking out for him, just as you are. You both care about him, and Molly’s worried about overwhelming him, which I’m sure you can understand. He's been through a lot."

“Of course I know he's been through a lot," Sirius exhales, heavy and deep and like all of Harry's suffering could be buffered away by it if he only wished hard enough. "But what about _underwhelming_ him -- did you see how upset he is about this? No one’s told him anything! He’s just been _stuck_ in that _house--_ ”

“You’re projecting,” Remus says and lifts Sirius’ side of the comforter as an offering. Sirius glares at him, but climbs into the bed anyhow, all clothing appropriately thrown, tangled, and tossed onto the ground. He doesn’t immediately curl into Remus’ side, doesn’t pull him closer or settle into the bed. Instead he props his head on his elbow and looks at him with a resigned pout to end wars. Remus’ face softens and he curves his own palm around Sirius’ jaw, smooth and fitted for each other. Sirius doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t melt into it either, as Remus was hoping he would. “I’m sure he isn’t pleased with Albus either. I understand you both don’t like it, but Albus is really looking out for both of your interests and the interests of the Order with every decision he makes.”

“You’ve told me before,” Sirius says, resigned and irritated. “Enough about my house arrest issues, we’ve exhausted that conversation - _please,_ ” he begs of Remus, and Remus’ heart throbs. Sirius looks so tired and so worn and so _old._

Remus knows that his own looks have long since told his story of woe with every mark, scarred and lined, necessary evils -- but the war had never seemed to take the same toll on Sirius. Even in the midst of it, when things were going south and their friends going missing, he had been nothing but youthful energy, light in his eyes, rightful and indignant and _furious_ , ready to burn everything to the ground with a single word and jab of his wand.

Now, the realization of where they sat and where they sit -- the spaces that stretch between here and there -- is like a Stupefy to the face. Sirius’ eyes are dark and his shoulders slumped and he’s had an air about him since Azkaban, like the lingering smell of fabric softener that catches on your clothes for weeks. Like everything had finally caught up with him, sitting still for too long.

Remus despises arguing with him, hates being the reason for the creases and the air going out of his lungs and so he nods and drops it, holding his arm up as an easy olive branch invitation. Sirius, his smile grateful and welcome and still so bright and _worth it_ , clambers over the imaginary line on the bed and onto Remus’ side and finally, finally curls into him, head nestled in the crook of Remus’ arm as its meant to be. He feels Sirius relax beneath him, tension leaking out of his shoulders, his hands, his face, and he loves him then. He loves him all the time, but feels an intense pang of it then and skims fingers through his hair, feeling peace -- even if its a momentary one -- here in this bubble they’ve carved out. 

He tries not to take for granted the time when he is allowed this, allowed to be here with Sirius and not on missions that require he and his furry problem. He doesn’t begrudge working for the Order -- it has to be done, and who, if not him, was more qualified for the work? That didn’t make him miss this any less, though. They had so much time to make up for, to redo, to mend together. He was content to drop their conversation and lean into sleep with no more speak of dementors and parental responsibilities and _war_. He knew Sirius, though. He wasn’t finished talking about tonight, only done discussing his own frustrations with Dumbledore -- which they had gone back and forth over more times than Remus could recount. 

“Do you think that we told him too much, then? Do you agree with Molly?” Sirius eventually asks, his voice muffled in the fabric of Remus’ t-shirt. 

“I...I think that Harry can handle far more than we, especially Molly, give him credit for. He needs to know that we’re working against Voldemort, that we aren’t doing nothing. And I think it’s due to him to know what Voldemort is planning. He certainly isn’t stupid, but I don’t think that he needs to know everything.” 

“Of course not,” Sirius says quickly. “I wasn’t going to tell him _everything._ ”

“I know you weren’t. But mention of the weapon is only going to create more questions, and those are not questions that he need have answered, _or_ ones that he needs to look into. You know that he, Hermione and Ron _will_ try to look into it, of course.”

“They’re quite good at it too,” Sirius laughs, and his outtake of breath is warm on Remus’ neck. He shifts so that he is farther down the bed and pulls his arms around Sirius properly. Sirius snuggles into him, breathing out long and heavy. “I suppose you’re right. I just don’t like hiding things from him. He deserves the truth.”

“And he’ll learn it eventually. Hopefully later rather than soon in regards to the prophecy, though. It’s only going to make him reckless,” Remus says lightly, his chin resting on the top of Sirius’ head. He presses a kiss to it, but Sirius is too caught up in thoughts of Harry to notice.

“I’ll try and be civil with Molly,” Sirius says eventually, so much later that Remus thought he might have drifted off. Remus smiles and hums to show him that he had heard. “Do you mind if we sleep like this, Moony?” Sirius voice is quiet. 

“Of course, Pads,” Remus smiles again, refrains from saying he was half-way there anyhow. He feels light and content as Sirius’ arms pull tighter against him for a moment. 

“Thank you, love you,” Sirius says, and there’s no trace of strain on his voice, no evidence that too many years have passed them by, nothing to speak of the second war at their door. Remus imagines the years sliding back and away from them, almost cannot imagine that Sirius has followed him all these years to end up exactly as they were so long ago. Time has never been on their side.

It'll be hours before they discuss it again, days before Sirius and Molly make up, months before the moving particulars of their conversation loom too big to avoid the consequences they bring. But now, they both fall asleep in a matter of minutes, and they're gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I write something about Sirius/Remus and it feels too cutesy, I think 'they deserve something!' so there's that. 
> 
> Have a great day <3


End file.
